Rescue Me, Please
by A2MOM
Summary: Edited to read better! Praxis confronts Deimos after Deimos tattles on him to Cain for talking to Abel. Praxis/Deimos; implied Cain/Deimos, Cain/Abel, Praxis/Athos. rated M for language and sex. HamletMachine writes draws and owns the beautiful webcomic Starfighter, please go read it!


Rescue Me, Please

* * *

Oh my word…The first version of this story has been deleted, sorry for any confusion. It was full of formatting errors and typos. This is the fixed version. Fanfiction net doesn't delete stories immediately; hard lesson to learn! (I feel as dumb as Praxis did….just read you'll see!)

This takes place in Chapter two after Deimos rats out Praxis for talking to Abel, and is rewarded by Cain cruelly rejecting him. Not on the Sleipnir yet so no Encke and Keeler in this one. Don't worry; I'm sure after the events in this story, they all made up again a day later.

Hamlet owns the boys, but this story is for Elise who loves Deimos, and Asocial who ships everyone with everyone !

* * *

When Praxis finally found him, he was beyond furious.

"You didn't waste any time, did you, you little snitch?!" he yelled at Deimos from across the room. The fighter's deck had gone still, card games paused and lewd conversations hushed. Praxis had a reputation for being a nice guy, for a fighter, and this vehemence was decidedly out of character for him.

Deimos, on the other hand, was anything but nice. Unless he was on his knees getting fucked, or giving head.

Praxis stalked over to where Deimos stood, hand still poised over the door controls to the lift. Just a few seconds more and he'd have made his escape, but Praxis wasn't about to let that happen. No one moved as Praxis came to a halt before the smaller fighter, who was literally backed into a corner as Praxis got well within his personal space.

"Keep your fucking nose out of my business, you little prick!" Deimos didn't look at Praxis, but he didn't flinch, either. If anything, it just made Praxis angrier."I catch you tailing me again so you can run off and report to that piece of shit Cain, you are going to be one sorry little bitch!"

Suddenly Praxis grabbed Deimos by the upper arm, too thin even in his fighter's uniform, and yanked him around hard. "Look at me when I'm talking to you!" he barked, fingers clenching hard enough to hurt.

Slowly, Deimos did, lifting his delicate face with the too large grey eyes, a face that didn't belong anywhere in the Alliance. There were tear tracks running down his cheeks, but they looked long dried. He wasn't crying anymore, and his miserable expression had nothing at all to do with Praxis.

"Go ahead," he said in his soft, submissive voice, so that only Praxis could hear. "Why don't you hit me, too? I deserve it."

Praxis just gaped at him, and when Deimos finally shrugged out of his grasp and boarded the lift, Praxis knew Cain wasn't the only one who was a piece of shit.

* * *

When Praxis was a little boy, he was never small. He was always the biggest kid in class, taller and broader than all the other boys. Size carries expectations, so when Praxis would get his feelings hurt by another child's cruelty, and cry, his teachers would scold him, telling him to act his age. It wasn't his fault, that he looked eight or nine when he was five. Five year olds are allowed to cry. Praxis never was.

His father was a big man, who married a small, submissive woman; produced four big sons who all marched off to war. Praxis was the only one left, much to his father's disappointment. When Praxis was injured in the Tiberius, losing his navigator-Jackson, his closest companion-and his left eye, he could have been discharged with honors. The idea never crossed his mind. He would rather lose his other eye, than go home in anything other than a box, and endure the cold disapproval of his father.

Praxis had been trying to please someone, it seemed, his entire twenty-four years of life. His father and the nuns at school, and now his commanding officers in the Alliance. It seemed he always fell just a little bit short, but he'd gotten so used to being second or third best by now, it didn't bother him anymore. Not much. Until that psychopath Cain had come along, and never passed up any opportunity to rub it in his face, what a loser he was.

And now Praxis was just as big a bully as Cain, and his father; pushing around someone smaller than he was, that couldn't fight back. It was like being five all over again, sometimes, being in the Alliance, except this time, Praxis was the one being cruel.

* * *

"Hey."

Praxis didn't catch up to Deimos for nearly a week after humiliating him in front of half their squadron, a week for him to fret and worry his stomach into knots over what Deimos must be thinking of him. At least, he didn't catch Deimos alone. Cain was always with him, hanging on him like a cheap suit while Deimos looked up at him adoringly. It made Praxis seethe with jealousy; Cain's violent charisma was disgusting and it was bad enough sweet, innocent Abel had fallen under his spell too.

Deimos was shrugging out of his sweaty clothes after their team's session in physical training, moping his lithe torso and face with his t-shirt. Praxis felt his face heat as he tried not to let his eyes wander disrespectfully over the smaller man's body.

"Um," Praxis fumbled, sitting on the bench next to where Deimos stood, purposefully not towering over him. Deimos just stood there, in his quiet, watchful way, and looked down at him expectantly.

"Listen, Deimos, I'm really sorry about the other day. I, uh, I shouldn't have yelled at you like that, in front of everybody."

He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, feeling himself blush as a tiny frown creased Deimos' brow.

"What are you talking about?" Deimos asked him, honestly confused, and Praxis felt like a royal idiot. Here he'd been worrying himself into an ulcer over something Deimos had forgotten all about. God, why couldn't he learn to keep his big mouth shut?

"Uh-just, just forget it," Praxis stammered, but before he could stand, and make his escape, the last person in the world he wanted to see sidled up to them.

"This asshole bothering you, Myshonok?" Cain asked nastily, smiling down at Praxis as he sauntered casually around him to stand too close to Deimos . He was half-dressed too, his beautiful, muscular torso sweaty and bare, his pants undone at the fly and hanging temptingly loose. He reeked of dangerous, masculine sex and when he laid a possessive arm around Deimos' thin shoulders, the poor fighter flushed with helpless arousal, his nipples peaking.

Cain cocked his head towards Deimos and rattled off a string of words in rapid colonial Russian, looking sidelong at Praxis with a dirty smile. Deimos ducked his gaze, shaking his head quickly, his face bright red. Praxis didn't have to understand their language to get the gist of what Cain had said.

"Okay, baby," Cain purred, turning both of them towards the showers. "See ya, Cyclops," he threw over his shoulder, and then the pair was gone.

Praxis sat there, shaking with anger and lust, and had to force himself not to follow them so he could watch.

* * *

A day later, it was Deimos who sought Praxis out.

"That was great, Athos," Praxis said with a grin as he exited the flight sim with his navigator. It had been an inactive week on patrol and Praxis had been itching for a way to burn off some energy. The flight sims were always good for an adrenaline rush; it was nice to shoot at something that couldn't kill you when it shot back, for a change.

Athos smiled up at him, all white teeth and hair and eyebrows. This wasn't bad either, this arrangement of casual sex between the two of them. Praxis wasn't stupid enough to think Athos actually cared for him, but he wasn't about to turn down a warm, willing lover that wanted to ride his cock every night, either.

"See you after class!" Athos winked, tucking his flight helmet under an arm before heading off to pilot training.

Deimos came quietly around the corner just as Athos sashayed towards the lift.

"Hi, Deimos!" Athos called brightly, ass swaying just a bit more as he gave a little wave in passing.

Deimos didn't say anything, just smiled and exchanged a look with him that made Praxis blush. He wondered, not for the first time, if there was anyone on base, who hadn't had a turn on the Athos' bike.

Deimos stopped just a few feet or so from Praxis, making him painfully aware he hadn't taken a shower yet, and his hair was flattened to his head by sweat.

"Can I talk to you?" Deimos asked in his soft voice, and Praxis had to tear his eyes away from his full, lush mouth to meet his eyes.

"Yeah, sure," Praxis said.

Deimos got right to the point. "What do you want?" he asked calmly.

Praxis stared, confused. "Huh?"

"What do you want?" Deimos repeated patiently. After a beat, he came to Praxis' rescue. "What do you want from me? Information? Sex? I told Cain I saw you talking to Abel, and he almost killed you for it. So why are you trying to be nice to me now, Praxis?" he asked, and Praxis damned himself for the way he got hard, just hearing Deimos say his name in his faint, Slavic accent.

"Cain didn't almost kill me," Praxis hurried to explain. "We just had a fight, but that's no excuse for me yelling at you the other day." Praxis felt his face heat thinking, shut up, you dumbass, you're rambling like an idiot. He cleared his throat nervously and shuffled his too large feet.

Deimos cocked his head and frowned, confused. "Why are you sorry? You should have beaten the shit out of me. "

He said it so matter of fact, Praxis felt like a bucket of ice water has been thrown over his head.

"Is that what you think, Deimos?" he asked angrily. "Has Cain kicked you in the teeth so many times, you think that's all you deserve?! You've got more class in your little finger then that asshole has in his whole body!"

Deimos stared, wide eyed, and suddenly gave a humorless laugh. "No, I don't," he retorted, stepping closer so that their bodies almost touched. "I'm just a dirty little slut, Praxis; or haven't you heard? Just like your little bitch, Athos. But you like that, don't you? That's why you're hard right now."

Praxis sucked in a breath as Deimos slid a hand teasingly up his thigh, dangerously close to his groin. "In fact," he said softly, "you're probably the only one on board who hasn't already fucked me."

He held Praxis' gaze steady as he took the final step to bring their bodies flush. "Do you want to fix that?" he offered with a whisper.

Praxis looked down at him, his body trembling with lust and anger. "I'm not a user, like Cain," he ground out.

Deimos expression hardened. "No, but you're a liar. At least Cain's never lied to me. I know exactly what I am to him."

He stepped back abruptly, taking the heat of his body with him. "If you want to fight me or fuck me, do it. But don't try to be my friend. I don't need anyone to rescue me. I can take care of myself."

Before he turned to leave, he glared back at Praxis . "And don't think for a minute I'm not using Cain, too."

* * *

Praxis did his damnedest to avoid Deimos after that, so of course, he saw him every time he turned around. At morning briefings he was there, Cain's ever present shadow, standing close on the days Cain let him, a hopeful light in his eyes. They passed in the corridors, Deimos always silent and expressionless as he stared at Praxis, who would blush awkwardly and look away.

In the mess one day, Deimos was there next to Cain, Praxis watching as Cain ignored Deimos coldly. Until Deimos looked up, and across three tables, his eyes locked onto Praxis' for a fleeting second.

And Praxis stopped breathing , as the swollen purple flesh around Deimos' right eye came into full view. Of course Cain would hit him on the side of his face that his dark fringe wouldn't hide. And Praxis was suddenly ten again, at the breakfast table, and his mother was pouring coffee for his father, ducking her head to hide her black eye in shame.

"Hey you gonna finish that?" Juno leaned across the table and asked him, pointing hopefully with his fork at Praxis' half eaten waffle.

Praxis blinked, looking at his friend in confusion and when he looked back at Deimos, he and Cain were halfway across the room. Cain had his arm heavy across Deimos' shoulders again, Deimos carrying both their dirty food trays while Cain was laughing and joking loudly with a trio of other fighters.

"No, take it," Praxis said distractedly, already swinging his leg off the bench and standing.

"Sweet!" the younger fighter grinned, pulling the plate towards him but Praxis was already on the move.

He caught up to the pair just as the lift doors opened, Cain saying something to Deimos in Russian again. Praxis shoved two other fighters out of the way as the doors begin to close, earning him a startled expletive that got cut off as he ducked inside the lift. And then he was alone, with Cain and Deimos and that big, ugly bruise staring back at him.

"Ah fuck it's you again?" Cain said sourly, but his mouth snapped shut in surprise when Praxis took a threatening step forward.

"Did he do that?" Praxis demanded, jerking a thumb at Cain while he glared hard at Deimos. His pulse was pounding in his ears and he could feel himself start to shake with rage.

And Deimos did exactly what Praxis' mother did too: he bit his lip and darted a sideways glance at Cain, who still had his arm around him, and shook his head once, no.

The next thing Praxis knew, he had Cain hauled up by the shirt front, slamming him into the lift wall and screaming in his face.

"You fucking son of a bitch!" he shouted, shaking a wide eyed Cain and oh, it was good to see the little fucker afraid of someone else for a change. "You ever lay a hand on her again, I'll break your fucking arm, you hear me?!"

Cain was red faced with rage and fear, hands gripping Praxis iron wrists, and he spat," 'Her'? What the fuck are you on about, Cyclops?! Get your mother fucking hands off me or I'll—"

His head snapped to the side as Praxis punched him, hard, across the face, a gasp of pain and surprise wrenched from his bloodied lips. Landing heavily on his hip, Cain's head whipped back up as Praxis loomed over him. With a snarl of rage Cain sprang to his feet, but before he could go for the knife Praxis knew he had in his boot, Praxis was on him again, slamming him back against the lift wall with a heavy forearm across his throat. Cain's eyes bugged out of his head as he clawed at Praxis' arm, gasping for air.

Then from behind him, Praxis heard a click, and Deimos said one, quiet word.

"Don't."

He tore his gaze from Cain's blue tinged face and saw Deimos standing there with his switchblade pointed right at him. Praxis had no doubt Deimos would cut him wide open before he could make a move.

"I said, let him go," Deimos repeated tightly, face white with fear.

The lift was slowing and Praxis thought fleetingly, this whole, ugly scene probably took less than a minute. Another few seconds, without Deimos and his warning and his shiny little blade, and Cain would have been dead.

And Praxis, worse than that.

He released Cain abruptly, stepping away from him as he staggered back and rubbed at his throat, coughing.

"Mo-mother fucking cock-cocksucker!" Cain choked out, gasping, "You are fucking _dead_!"

Then the doors opened and Christ, as if things couldn't get any worse, Bering and half his office staff were standing there. Deimos' knife seemed to vanish in thin air and the three of them froze in place, wiping the rage off their expressions and shutting up, fast.

Bering swept them with an annoyed gaze. "Problem?" he barked, taking in Cain's rumpled shirt and Deimos' swollen eye.

Praxis swallowed hard. "No, sir!" he lied for all of them.

"Good," Bering glared, and they didn't need to be told to get out twice.

"This isn't over," Cain hissed at Praxis, as soon as the lift doors shut. "You're gonna need more than one eye to watch your back from now on, Cyclops," he spat.

Praxis closed the space between them in two, slow strides. "Maybe," he agreed quietly, and then smiled menacingly. "But so will you."

That wiped the smirk off Cain's face. He glared hatefully at Praxis a second longer, then barked, "C'mon, Myshonok, let's go."

Deimos looked at both of them, lip trembling as tears coursed down his face.

"Fuck you," he whispered, glaring at both of them . "Fuck. _You."_

As they both stood there and watched him walk away, Praxis thought he couldn't feel any worse if Deimos had actually cut him.

* * *

When Praxis is fifteen, he's already six feet tall, nearly as tall as his father. He's still a boy, though, so when his father raises his voice or his hand, Praxis still cringes in fear.

By seventeen, Praxis is bigger than his father. He comes home from school one day to find his parents in a screaming match, his mother with her suitcase in hand, again, his father blocking the door.

"Get up to your room, boy!" his father shouts at him, when he tries to come to his mother's aid. He backhands Praxis hard across the face, eyes widening in surprise when Praxis remains on his feet instead of going down.

"That's the last time you hit me, old man," Praxis warns him. "Or mom. You lay a hand on her ever again, I swear to God, Dad, I'll hit you back."

It's the last time there's a raised voice or fist in the house. Praxis ends up with a nose broken so badly it never heals, leaving him hawk-faced to this day. His heart is broken far worse though. No matter how hard he begs, his mother won't leave the brute she married. She dies a few months later, just goes to sleep one night and doesn't wake up, and it takes a long, long time for Praxis to forgive her for leaving him instead.

He enlists the day he turns eighteen. He knows if he stays, he'll end up just like his father someday.

* * *

Cain wouldn't come within ten feet of him afterward, so there was little chance of him making good on his threat. After the whole adrenaline rush of anger had cooled off, Praxis felt ashamed and foolish about the whole, juvenile mess. Deimos didn't want anything to do with either one of them, isolating himself on a bench in the rec room while listlessly watching the card games and arm wrestling matches. He looked heartbreakingly lonely, and Praxis knew it was all his fault.

"Honestly," Athos had huffed one night when Praxis poured out his guts, hoping for a sympathetic ear. "And you fighters call _us_ girls?"

He made it up to Praxis later, with a massage and some first class head, saying he was sick of seeing him mope around like a love sick puppy.

"Praxie honey," Athos advised him wisely,"if you want him, go get him; otherwise suck it up and stop torturing yourself. Deimos is tougher than he looks. He doesn't need you to rescue him."

* * *

Praxis had never learned how to do anything but torture himself, however, so he settled for watching Deimos' from afar. Gradually, things went back to normal. Cain was throwing Praxis dirty looks again, and Praxis was back to feeling intimidated. Abel was on Cain's arm now most days, the hickies placed just above his uniform collar dark even as Deimos' bruised eye began to fade. If Cain was good at one thing, Praxis thought darkly, it was marking his territory.

Parading Abel around served two purposes as well. Cain knew Praxis wouldn't start any trouble if Abel was in the same room, for one. It was a cruel slap in Deimos' face, though; relegated to the sidelines while Abel sat pink faced with Cain's arm possessively around his shoulders. It would be a long time, Praxis figured, before Cain would forgive Deimos for that hateful "Fuck you."

Praxis was edgy and sick of it all. It was time to end the whole melodramatic mess.

"Hey, Cain?"

Cain looked up warily at Praxis at Noon mess, his arm tightening around Abel a fraction.

"What?" Cain snapped, scowling when Abel clucked his tongue in disapproval.

Now or never, Praxis thought. Taking a deep breath, he extended his hand.

"Look, can we just forget about it, okay? I mean, we're on the same side, we shouldn't be fighting each other and all."

He was red in the face by the time he'd finally mumbled through it, still holding his hand out, waiting. This would be a perfect opportunity for Cain to tell him to get fucked in front of half the ship, but Abel was sitting there, watching both of them intently. Halfway down the table, Deimos sat slouched over his untouched plate, absently stirring his coffee.

Cain looked like he'd rather spit on Praxis' hand then shake it, but Abel was there, so after a painfully pregnant pause, he smiled.

"Sure, Praxis," Cain said, shaking his hand as if they were old friends. "Consider it forgotten."

"Great!" Praxis sighed in relief, smiling back. It felt like the weight of the world had just been lifted off his shoulders. "I'm really sorry about everything-"

"I said, forget it," Cain repeated tightly.

"Uh, sure," Praxis stammered again, blushing when Abel gave him an encouraging smile. He made his way back to his seat, glancing hopefully at Deimos, who continued stirring his coffee. Ah well, Praxis thought, one down, one to go.

Twenty minutes later the all comm announced afternoon training for the navigators, and Abel and his fellow pilots got up to leave.

"See ya later, Princess," Cain said, catching Abel's arm and pulling him down for a quick kiss on the cheek.

"Cain!" Abel hissed in embarrassment and Cain just shrugged and grinned, ducking when Abel swatted at his dark head.

The fighters at their table hooted with laughter and Abel stalked off, back stiff.

Praxis was more than ready to leave, too. He was sick of watching Cain paw poor Abel and seeing Deimos retreat further into his shell. As the last navigators departed he gathered his tray and utensils, and made his way along the table to the recycler bin.

He had just passed Cain, when suddenly the floor came rushing up to smack him in the face. With a "whoof!" of pained surprised he fell flat out, his tray clattering nosily to the floor and the remains of his lunch skittering in all directions. For a second he lay there, stunned and breathless, wincing as his forearms screamed in pain from trying to break his fall.

"Shit!" Cain exclaimed, grabbing for him to help him to his feet. "Jesus, dude, I didn't see you, I'd've never had my foot out like that; fuck, I'm sorry! Did you hurt yourself?"

It was such a convincing act, Praxis almost believed him, glaring at Cain's stricken face accusingly. He rolled to his feet gingerly, brushing off his ruined uniform to the snickering of his team mates. At least Deimos still had his head down, but there was no way he couldn't have heard.

"I'm fine," Praxis snapped, yanking out of Cain's grip. His face felt like it was on fire and he just wanted to put as much distance between himself and Cain right now as fast as humanly possible.

"Are you sure?" Cain was really laying the concerned friend act on thick. Deimos seemed to have had enough, quietly standing with his untouched coffee and heading around the other side of the table. Praxis just closed his eyes, and prayed the floor would open up and suck him out into the vacuum of space.

"Maybe I should take you to medical?" Cain went on, looking up at him from where he sat, biting his lip to keep from laughing. He'd save that for when Praxis left the room, no doubt.

"I said I'm fine," Praxis ground out, turning his face as Deimos drew closer.

"Oh good!" Cain grinned, "I wouldn't want—"

He was cut off with a gasp of shock, when Deimos paused, and threw the contents of his coffee cup in his face. Praxis stood there, frozen in shock, waiting for Cain to start screaming in pain.

"Oh damn," Deimos said almost to himself, looking from the now empty cup to Cain's drenched face. "I was hoping it was still hot."

The room was suddenly deadly silent as Deimos slowly looked at Cain and said something in Russian, just three or four sentences but they were enough to make Cain's olive skin turn white. He shrunk back in his seat looking like a kicked dog, and Deimos, apparently satisfied, turned to Praxis.

"Let's go."

* * *

Once the door to the mess hall closed, Deimos looked Praxis up and down.

"Are you sure you're not too hurt to fuck me?" he asked worriedly.

"I—what?" Praxis gaped at him, certain he'd heard wrong. Deimos just stared at him pointedly, and he rushed to add, "Look, I'm fine and, um, not that I don't want to or anything, but, um, I've kinda gotten in enough trouble over you already, Deimos."

"Praxis," Deimos said patiently, "I started this. We've all even now, so I'm ending it."

"Um, but, aren't you kinda in love with Cain?" Praxis asked.

Deimos shrugged. "Probably. Who cares? Are you in love with Athos? Or is Athos in love with you?"

"Huh?" Praxis said, dizzy from trying to keep up with so many twists and turns. "No, of course not! We're just-"

"Good," Deimos said, and he smiled. "Follow me."

* * *

"So, what did you say to Cain back there?" Praxis asked as Deimos stopped in front of a cabin and punched in the keycode.

"I told him not to come back to his quarters for an hour, or I'd slit his throat in his sleep," Deimos answered. The door hissed open and he pulled Praxis inside, locking it again. He looked up at Praxis and smirked. "Don't worry, we've been in worse fights, and I haven't killed him yet."

Praxis looked at him, horrified for a beat, and then laughed. "Oh, c'mon! What did you _really_ tell him?"

"I told him not to come back here for an hour," Deimos repeated, starting to undress.

"Here?" Praxis asked in confusion, watching in fascination as Deimos blithely tossed his shirt aside.

"Yes. This is Cain and Abel's room."

"Shit!" Praxis exclaimed, zipping his pants up hurriedly, which was no easy task, with as hard as his dick already was. "What the hell-?! Are you trying to get us killed? What if one of them comes back?!"

"Praxis," Deimos didn't sound so patient anymore. "Abel is on duty, and I guarantee you Cain will stay out, if he knows what's good for him. If he doesn't," he shrugged, leaning over to pull off his pants and underwear together, "you can fuck him, too."

And then he was beautifully bare, and hard, and Praxis couldn't wait to get his hands all over him.

"Now get your clothes off," Deimos smiled seductively, "because we're going to do it in Cain's bed."

* * *

"Jesus," Praxis groaned, parting for air after another drugging kiss, "you are so sexy, Deimos, ohhh God…."

Deimos laughed softly against his mouth, arms around his shoulders holding him tightly. They were both stark naked, sprawled across the narrow bunk, Praxis on top of Deimos' smaller body. He was deliciously lithe and smooth, strong though slender, touching Praxis as if he knew exactly where all his erogenous zones already were. Athos, some dim portion of Praxis' brain reasoned, as their mouths met again, tongues twining together. For once Praxis was glad Athos couldn't keep his yap shut and he pictured them together in his mind, naked and writhing together, oh God, how hot would that be?

"Mmmmm!" Deimos moaned, pressing his cock against Praxis' belly, their bodies rubbing together. He spread his legs and hooked them up around Praxis ass, rocking their bodies together .

Praxis gasped and pulled his mouth free to bury his face at Deimos throat. Deimos tipped his head back, crying out as Praxis kissed up and down his hot, smooth skin.

"Deimos," he panted, rising up to look down into his beautiful flushed face. He pressed kisses everywhere, tenderly to his healing eye, and asked, "I want to fuck you so bad, I can't wait anymore; please?"

"Lube's in the top drawer," Deimos panted and Praxis didn't ask how he knew it was there.

He disengaged long enough to throw out a long arm and fumble clumsily inside the dresser, catching Deimos by the shoulder as he started to roll to his hands and knees.

"No stay like this," Praxis said huskily, "so we can still kiss, okay?"

Deimos smiled, reaching up to stroke Praxis face. His fingers ghosted over the patch covering his ruined eye, the gesture so tender it made Praxis shiver. "That's fine with me," he whispered.

Praxis smiled back and kissed Deimos' palm, pulling his legs up over his shoulders as Deimos opened the tube of gel. He coated Praxis' fingers and when Praxis lowered his hand down between their bodies, Deimos pulled his face down again for a hungry kiss.

Praxis sunk two fingers into Deimos easily, feeling him arch and moan as he began pumping his hand in and out. If this was going to be the only time they had, he was going to do his best to make sure Deimos remembered it.

"Unh, yesss!" Deimos cried out, thrusting back against Praxis hand when Praxis started fucking him with three fingers instead of two. Deimos responded lustily; he loved the anal stimulation and Praxis was intrigued to see if he would be able to climax from this alone.

"No more, don't; get in me now!" Deimos begged, trying to pull Praxis toward him but Praxis had him trapped, bent nearly in half. He wailed when Praxis pulled his fingers free and rubbed the head of his cock against his entrance, teasing him almost beyond endurance

"Fuck me fuck me, mmmm, yes!" Deimos shuddered as Praxis leaned into him, splaying his legs wide with his fingers digging into the firm muscles of his thighs.

"You want it?" Praxis panted, pushing halfway in and holding himself, shaking, in place. "Say it, sexy; beg me."

"I want it!" Deimos cried, twisting in frustration. "Praxis please—ahhhh!"

Praxis sunk in to the root, gasping as he started to thrust. He leaned his weight against Deimos' thighs, moving his hands to either side of Deimos face, fingers tangled in his hair.

"Open your eyes," he growled, "look at me, Deimos, show me your pretty eyes."

This might be Cain's bed but it was Praxis fucking him, and he'd be damned if Deimos was fantasizing it was anyone else. And Deimos did as he asked, eyes glazed in ecstasy as he stared up at Praxis, mouth open and panting, rocking faster and crying out, sweat running down both their bodies. Praxis crushed his mouth to Deimos' again, fucking him with his tongue as he felt Deimos shove his hand between their bodies and start jerking himself off in short, desperate strokes.

Praxis grabbed his hand and pinned both wrists to the mattress beside his head, trapping Deimo's cock against his hard belly as he kissed him again, swallowing his cries, until he felt his body jerk and a hot gush of seed pulsing between them. He drove into Deimos almost brutally hard and Deimos tore his mouth away, screaming yes, don't stop, please Praxis don't ever stop-

With a groan of relief Praxis emptied himself inside Deimos, coming so hard he nearly passed out.

"Yes yes," Deimos chanted, digging his heels into Praxis ass, "give it to me, Praxis, do it!"

"Unh!" Praxis gasped, heart hammering and sweat pouring off his back. "Fuck, ngh!"

He grinned down at Deimos, face flushed and hair an absolute mess, as breathless and well fucked as Praxis felt himself.

"Jesus, that was great!" he said shakily. "You should threaten Cain with death more often!"

Deimos blinked up at him, then dissolved into helpless giggles.

* * *

"You fucked him," Athos breathed, when Praxis returned to his own quarters later that night. He bounced up from the bed, grabbing Praxis by the arm and dragging him over to sit.

"Details!" he demanded eagerly, vibrating with excitement. "Come on don't keep me in suspense, Praxie!"

"Did Deimos already tell you?" Praxis asked, slightly annoyed, but Athos waved him off impatiently.

"Oh come on, it's written all over your face," Athos retorted. "You've got that satisfied, fucked out look."

Praxis looked at his roommate quizzically. "Really? How can you-?"

"_Praxis!" _Athos tackled him and straddled him, until Praxis lay laughing on the bed. "Tell me right now or I swear to god I'll tie you to this bed and suck your toes until you pee yourself!"

Well, they hadn't tried that before, Praxis thought. Athos was nothing if not determined, and freakishly strong for his size, so Praxis shrugged.

"Not much to tell," he said simply. "Cain tripped me in the mess, after we shook hands and made up, and then Deimos threw coffee in his face, and took me back to Cain's room where I fucked his brains out. Deimos' brains, not Cains," Praxis amended hastily.

"Wow," Athos breathed, and Praxis could tell he'd been able to follow that entire convoluted sentence. Athos was no dummy; just a happy little slut. Praxis wasn't complaining, that's what made Athos such a great roommate.

"How did Deimos get Cain to let you guys fuck in his room?" he was slowly starting to lap dance Praxis crotch, getting horny from listening to Praxis' story. Hell, there wasn't much that didn't make Athos horny. That was the other reason he was fun to live with.

"Deimos told him he'd slit his throat in his sleep otherwise."

Athos raised his eyebrows. "Well, remind me to never piss off our little emo friend," he said with a whistle. He cocked his head, and asked, "So what now? You three all kissed and made up? You and Deimos going to do it again?"

Praxis laid his hands on Athos thighs, somewhat annoyed that the little bastard had gotten his dick hard again. This had been a really long day, and he was more than tired.

"I guess?" he said with shrug. "Dunno if Deimos'll ever want to screw around again with me, though."

Athos leaned his hands on Praxis' chest, his big green eyes sparkling mischievously. "Would you want to if he said yes?" he grinned.

"Hell, yeah," Praxis smirked, 'but I don't know if he-"

"Deimos!" Athos yelled gleefully over his shoulder in the direction of the head. "Get out here! I _told_ you he'd say yes, too!"

* * *

I am certain the mess hall scene where Cain trips Praxis is something I've seen in a dozen or so 80's high school movies. The whole sordid triangle between Deimos, Praxis and Cain reads like a teenaged angst fest anyway….plus it just seemed like something Cain would do.

I am rapidly becoming enamored with Praxis. I always did love the underdog !

Once again thanks for reading, and I hope this edited version makes more sense!-A2MOM :)


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